That Moment
by moricakes
Summary: John didn't know he had feelings for Sherlock except for attraction. Sherlock believed love was an illusion and so ignored how he felt for John. This tells of the moment when they realised just how much the other meant to them. Set before the new series but contains spoilers for those that haven't seen the 7 minute special. Cover image belongs to xxxxxx6x on DeviantArt.


**I watched the 7 minute mini-episode a few days ago and I had the itch to write this because the chemistry between our favourite pair demanded attention. It is absolutely frustrating that Mofatt and Gatiss tease us with them two. I tried to write Sherlock the way he normally is but It's a little hard for me. I'm sorry if he's out of character. I fear that John might be a little too emotional in this too.**

**I don't own anything mentioned in this story, and I hope you guys enjoy it.**

John knew he had been instantly attracted to Sherlock Holmes the moment he first clapped eyes on the younger man, drinking in his chiselled cheekbones and mess of dark curls atop his head. His eyes had been cool and calculating, controlled and sharp but they drew in John so easily into their icy depths. At first he had thought they were green, but that day when the flat was searched for drugs and John had been surprised to discover that Sherlock had some history with drugs, he had looked at Sherlock's eyes properly and found they were not green but a mix of blue and greenish-gold. _Heterochromia. _The grin Sherlock sent his way made his stomach do a flip and John's breathing faltered for a few seconds as he admired the way the man's lips, which were somehow inviting yet secretive, arranged itself into an expression of joy and John found that he most certainly wouldn't mind seeing that smile again and again.

John Watson was a man that did things both on instinct and emotion however he wasn't as logical as Sherlock but he was logical enough to quickly think about the consequences before making a fool of himself. Which was why he never made a move on the man he lived with, thanks to being shot down so blatantly during their first outing at Angelo's. John had always known himself to be bisexual but the conversation at Angelo's made him a touch defensive and he vehemently denied having any interest towards men even though he preferred the delicate frames of the opposite sex over the male musculature.

But it hadn't seemed like Sherlock believed him so John had to pretend he wasn't attracted to the only consulting detective in the world in the months that followed but there were moments when he was weak and let something slip through the facade, especially during the times where Sherlock put his own life in mortal danger and John would be more furious with him than what a normal housemate and best friend should be. There were also times when Sherlock impressed him so much with his skill and genius that John couldn't control the admiring adjectives that flowed out of his mouth.

To make up for it he asked many women out on dates though the dates never went well since John would drop everything and end the evening early just so he could accompany Sherlock to a crime scene. Mycroft had been right, John missed the action of war and Sherlock helped to distract him. It was definitely easier to go on adventures with Sherlock than scrabbling in the sand amidst bullets and broken bodies. John enjoyed his time with Sherlock far more than courting beautiful and respectable women.

What John didn't know was when the hell he had fallen in love with Sherlock since they had spent most of their free time together, with John watching Sherlock with a wary eye, like a mother watching over her young and in a way, that was true since Sherlock was akin to a petulant child, especially when he was surrounded by others. Sherlock did not like it when things didn't go his way and didn't care for responsibility or respect, what with the experiments often scattered around the flat and harsh insults he aimed at anyone he felt were lower than him. John always had his eye on Sherlock, so at the time it never occurred to him that he had feelings for Sherlock.

However, he remembered so clearly the exact date that he realised it and that was after he heard the words '_I don't have friends!" _hissed through Sherlock's teeth while they sat by the fireplace at the resort in Dartmoor. The words struck him painfully through his core and he had had to take a walk alone to understand why he felt so strongly about these four words and it was during that walk that he understood that while he was Sherlock's friend after all their time together, he wanted much more than that. He wanted to stand next to the cleverest man in the whole world for the rest of his life and the harsh words coming from said man made him feel unwanted and unappreciated.

There was a moment soon after that he realised that he would never get what he really wanted, as he kneeled on the carpet beside the sofa that Sherlock had draped himself over, deep in sleep. At that realisation John gave up on the hope of a future between them and he swept a thick curl away from Sherlock's forehead, allowing himself a chaste kiss as farewell to that little slice of hope.

Sherlock despised social interaction but would never admit that he was lonely. Had been for so many years since his childhood. Ms Hudson filled in the void a bit and he had affection for her, like a boy would for his grandmother. Unlike his own mother, who had nannies and maids take care of his every need, Ms Hudson doted on him and he soaked up the attention whenever he could without compromising his cool and detached composure.

When he met John Watson, he was sure he would be another one of those that would dislike him upon introduction but when John had first uttered '_Brilliant!" _and then _'Fantastic!' _in response to his deductions at their first shared crime scene, Sherlock felt a rush of exhilaration coarse through his being and suddenly he felt like he had purpose and that was to impress John Watson as much as he could so that he himself felt special. Sherlock learned that John Watson himself was far much better than nicotine, as his new-found and continuous motivation to glean praise from John made him focus that much better on his work. Not only that, as soon as the doctor moved into 221B Baker Street the rest of the void not occupied by his landlord was filled and he didn't feel lonely anymore. Not being lonely was an entirely new emotion for Sherlock and he had to admit that while John bored him on a lot of occasions, Sherlock would rather have his mundane company than none at all.

Sherlock became possessive of the man right after he discovered that John, steadfastly loyal to a fault, saved his life and shot the cabbie without a second thought. He struggled and managed to stop himself from sabotaging John's efforts at securing a job at a clinic, knowing that the man didn't want to freeload off of Ms Hudson but as soon as John started working Sherlock craved the man's attention more frequently and he couldn't quite concentrate on his work, his fantastic mind distracted by thoughts of John and bored by the lack of John's presence. He hated it when John went out and sabotaged every date he had.

It wasn't long after John began his new job that Sherlock's thoughts went down a different path, so very unusual for someone like him. Sherlock found himself wanting to run into John's bedroom while the doctor was having a nightmare and save him from it. He found that he had this urge to reach out and envelop John with his arms tightly - on so many occasions he had to dig his nails into his fists to restrain himself. There were also times that he marvelled at John. John wasn't what many would deem physically attractive compared to himself, but he was extremely charming and friendly and that seeped through to the surface 24/7 and Sherlock was always entranced by the man's eyes when they lay upon him and whenever John grinned at him, he just wanted to latch onto those lips with his own. He squashed the thoughts and urges into a drawer in John's Room in his Mind Palace though that drawer had an infuriating tendency to prop open every three seconds.

He had never kissed anyone before, as that seemed too intimate of an action to Sherlock, so he was always puzzled when the urge to kiss John hit him. Sherlock had participated in sex before, experimenting with both men and women, and that was that, just an experiment. He got nothing out of it and felt it more like a sport. It was messy and a waste of Sherlock's time.

It was only when he was on the top of St. Bart's fervently begging John Watson to turn away that he realised his obsession with the doctor was much deeper, as he felt regret tear at him with every word he said to the man on the street below him. He wanted to give up and throw himself at John, and run away with him. The tight squeezing pain in his chest was unfamiliar to the detective and tears threatened to spill when John's smiling face appeared in his mind and that was when he realised it.

In the days and weeks and months that followed after his 'fall' he was constantly plagued with what ifs. What if he had given in to desire and snogged the doctor senseless? What if he hadn't firmly said he was married to his work? What if he had allowed himself to do more than watch over John as he slept fitfully? In those days after the fall he only had one thought that spurred him on - he had to get back to John.

It had been close to a year since Sherlock's death and he was coping somewhat, the sudden deaths of so many friends he called brothers in Afghanistan and his parents having hardened him to the point where dealing with loss was a little bit easier but he was afraid that the little DVD sitting on the coffee table in front of him would destroy his efforts in maintaining some semblance of coping after Sherlock's death. He had watched the original video message several times when he desperately needed something that was so Sherlock but only after having drunk himself into a sort of haze.

Deciding to get it over with after an hour of staring at the circular plastic case that held the disk, he poured himself a glass of whisky, drank it in one go and deciding that just one drink wasn't going to be enough, he took the bottle from the cabinet again and poured another glass. After a little bit of contemplation he put the dvd in the player and started it.

As soon as it began he began to feel furious, a bitter churning in his chest, growing with every sound that emitted from the speakers.

"Right, I just… I need a moment to erm… figure out what I'm gonna do." Screen Sherlock said.

"I can tell you what you can do." John curled his free hand into a fist as he felt his resolve crumble. He readied himself to take another swig from the glass and continued. He could feel his face grow warm. "You can stop being dead."

He was on the edge of letting the emotions overwhelm him but his heart skipped a beat when Sherlock said "Okay." as if he was listening to his plea and would do what he wanted.

How he wished that could happen.

"Hello John." Sherlock said. "I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment, I'm very busy."

_Not busy. Dead. _John thought to himself.

"Don't worry. I'm going to be with you again very soon."

John was going to make a sarcastic retort when he was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Getting up and fishing for his wallet, he walked over to the door, answering it to find a young man holding up a white plastic bag containing a couple of containers. The smell of curry instantly hit him and he paid the man, taking the bag from him.

The doorbell rang again as soon as he placed the bag on the coffee table and John wondered if the delivery boy had forgotten something. He was sure the man tendered the correct change so there shouldn't be any reason why he would return so soon, mere seconds after he had closed the door. John returned to the door and opened it, not prepared for the sight that lay before him.

Taking a step back in surprise, he blinked, all thoughts of the delicious smelling Indian food wiped from his mind.

"Hello John." A rich baritone addressed him, full of emotion and promise. The person that stood in the door had changed so much yet not at all. The chiselled cheeks that he had been so fond of were sunken, shrouded in shadow thanks to unkempt hair that reached the chin. The eyes he remembered so clearly even in his dreams were wide and bright despite being rimmed with dark bags. "I'm back."

John backed up until the table blocked his path and he fell onto it with a thud.

Sherlock didn't know what he had expected when he decided to show up on John's doorstep. Sure he had been hoping that John would envelop him in a much needed embrace, but even he knew that was a silly hope. He didn't expect that he would be helpless at this very moment as he watched John lapse into shock.

"What..?" John muttered. "What…the hell?"

Sherlock kept silent as John stared unblinkingly. It felt like hours before John moved, pushing himself away from the table and Sherlock, feeling a punch to the face coming on, braced himself. John took a step towards Sherlock but instead he turned away and collapsed onto the sofa, placing his head in his hands. "No." He murmured, his voice cracking. "No… no, you didn't."

Sherlock softly crept over to where John was, lowering himself so that he was crouching in front of him. He reached out, paused in mid air between them and then wrapped his hand around John's wrist as soon as he saw that the older man's shoulders were shaking, "John, please look at me." He whispered, begging. John ripped his arm away, his eyes flowing with tears but his face contorted in fury.

"You arse!" John growled and Sherlock felt tears trickling down his own cheeks. He reached out again to hold both of John's hands and John fought against him.

"John." Sherlock uttered helplessly."I'm so sorry. I truly am."

"Bullshit." John spat, trying to wrestle his hands out of Sherlock's grip. For a man that had lost a fair bit of weight since he last saw him, his grip was still strong. Sherlock shook his head, pulling John closer. He let go of his hands and drew him into a tight embrace. It wasn't the kind of embrace he'd hoped to have when he reunited with John but he needed a way to soothe John, and his own frayed nerves. Sherlock tightened his hold, refusing to let go. He let his shield fall completely as he pushed his nose into the crook of John's neck, inhaling deeply as John grappled at his arms and attempted to wrestle himself out. He kept fighting for at least a few minutes until the anger ebbed and he deflated in Sherlock's arms, suddenly exhausted and weak.

It was another quarter of an hour before Sherlock reluctantly released John and another moment passed before anyone said anything.

"W…why?" Sherlock knew exactly what John was asking about and he told John everything. It was nearing 10 in the evening before Sherlock finished his tale and John hadn't said a word the whole time, determinedly gazing away from the man opposite him.

"John…" Sherlock took his hand gingerly, rubbing it with his thumb. He was finding it hard to breathe now. John hadn't looked at him at all and he was starting to feel lost again. "Please look at me."

John obliged, turning to face Sherlock and Sherlock tried to read him. All he could deduce from John through his mask was a tiny hint of acceptance and Sherlock held onto that. John stared into his eyes, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Your hair's long." He pointed out and Sherlock couldn't help the wry chuckle that escaped his lips.

"Yes." He whispered and then looked down at John's hand still in his, turning it over to massage his palm before pressing a kiss to it. John's breath hitched, alerting Sherlock to glance at him. John was giving him a unsure look and Sherlock, feeling that John's reaction could either mean he was hoping for the same thing Sherlock desired the most or simply because it was such an unexpected and human gesture from a self-proclaimed sociopath, let the moment guide him.

"John… I didn't come back so things could go back to the way it was. I came back because I need you. I have always needed you since the day I met you, John." He said softly, searching John's face for some sign of reciprocation of his feelings but for some reason John was still being difficult to read and that was when he understood that his 'death' had forced John to wear a mask in front of everyone he interacted with and now that mask was automatically in place. Hating himself for having done that to John, he brought John's palm to his cheek, hot against his own skin though the warmth was reassuring. He closed his eyes and basked in the contact. "I had once believed love was an illusion, that the perceived emotion was a result of juvenile hormones and unhealthy obsession. Not anymore, John. I know it's real. I don't know how you feel or if you want the same thing but the only thing I can hope for right now is that in time you'll forgive me for everything. But I swear to you John, that I'm never leaving you ever again."

Sherlock opened his eyes to find that John's gaze was shimmering with fresh tears.

"I can't forgive you. Not yet." John sighed. "But…" He allowed himself to lightly stroke Sherlock's hair and it was gnarly in his fingers from months of neglect. There was no way he would let this opportunity disappear but it wasn't going to happen over night, not while he was still in such a vulnerable state. He gave Sherlock a broken smile. "You convinced me that a relationship between us would never occur. You've given me hope now but…Sherlock, I can't do it. Not yet."

Sherlock nodded solemnly and moved to sit next to John on the sofa, leaving as much space between them. He settled into the seat stiffly and they both stared blankly at the dimmed screen of the TV, a darkened image of Sherlock staring back. The real Sherlock stole numerous glance out of the corner of his eyes at John. His John. On one hand he was elated to learn that John did return his feelings, though he didn't know how strong they were, but on the other hand he despised the distance and tension that occupied the space between them.

He froze when John shifted on the sofa, and he stiffened further when John's arm made contact with his own and he hesitantly placed his head on his bony shoulder.

"You've lost weight." John said, eliciting another chuckle and Sherlock let himself relax a very tiny amount, his nerves and thoughts going haywire at John's display of affection.

**Let me know if you guys enjoyed reading this. This is just a oneshot, so you all know. I wanted to get this up before the new series began because I know that once I watch it I wouldn't be keen on uploading this.**


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